


Crossroads

by Suspicious_Popsicle



Series: Mix Tape [11]
Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspicious_Popsicle/pseuds/Suspicious_Popsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N: Yeah, that sucked last time, huh? I don't think Flynn had ever given up on Yuri in one of my stories before this one. Can't really blame him, though.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: The characters in this story are (mostly) from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Yeah, that sucked last time, huh? I don't think Flynn had ever given up on Yuri in one of my stories before this one. Can't really blame him, though.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are (mostly) from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

"So, when's he moving out?"

Yuri turned away from the movie he hadn't really been watching on Crash's TV. They'd been sitting on the futon couch for over an hour, and those were the first words that had passed between them since the film had started. He watched as Crash stubbed out his cigarette in a kitschy, skull-and-snakes ashtray. He didn't really look like he cared. His attention was so focused on the screen that he barely looked like he realized he'd spoken. Yuri knew better. Crash had probably watched the movie a hundred times over. He didn't need to pay attention to it, but it was a nice illusion. It made it seem like the question wasn't all that important. Yuri looked back up at the TV.

"Next Monday."

"Got a place lined up?"

"Apartment complex across town. Hell of a lot closer to his school." He could see Crash nodding in his peripheral vision.

"Roommate?"

"Don't know.

"Guess it'll be 'so long' except for parties and gigs."

Yuri didn't say anything to that. Flynn wasn't going to be coming to any more of either. Why should he? He'd spent a couple months slumming alongside the metal crowd, and now he was going back to his ivory tower.

"He's an interesting one, though. If he was a bit more like you, he'd've been great for my movie: the high-minded scientist who has to go punch aliens to save his girlfriend when his transdimensional thingamabob goes nuts."

The thought brought a tiny smile to Yuri's lips. "You don't think Flynn could punch aliens? He may be an overgrown Boy Scout, but he's got a temper on him."

"Nah, that's not the problem. It's that he can't act worth a damn. You remember when he brought that girl over to your place?" He laughed. "I felt so bad for her, 'cause you could tell he was totally oblivious."

"Better be careful about laughing at her. She's pretty scary."

"Yeah?" When Yuri didn't expand on that, Crash shrugged. "I guess you'd know about having a scary follower."

"What she wants from Flynn is a hell of a lot different from what Zagi wants from me."

"Oh, hey, small world!"

"What?" He regarded Crash's sudden enthusiasm with all due suspicion.

"So, I just realized: Zagi got kicked out of his house and you replaced him with Flynn, who'd been kicked out of _his_ house by his mom who goes to the same salon as Zagi." He grinned. "Small world."

That small world was going to get a lot bigger as soon as Flynn moved out. Yuri wondered what the odds of them running into each other on accident were. Not great, that was for sure. Zaphias was a big city, and there wasn't much cause for Flynn to stop by any of Yuri's haunts. Probably wouldn't bother reserving a ticket to his next concert, either, even though he'd promised. Yuri supposed that he couldn't really blame him for that, though.

He stood up and stretched, and the movement finally pulled Crash's eyes away from the movie.

"I'm gonna head home."

"You're not staying?"

"Maybe next time."

"This is the next time."

"Maybe next next time."

Crash shrugged. "See you later, then."

Yuri waved as he walked out of the room, but Crash was already focused once more on the action onscreen.

* * *

When he got home, Yuri paused just outside the front door to listen. There was no violin that night, either. Flynn hadn't been playing so much lately, and Yuri found that he missed it. During those first few weeks, it had been sort of annoying, particularly when he would be trying to work on a new song and something Flynn was practicing would get stuck in his head. He'd come to enjoy it, though. Flynn played with both skill and passion. Yuri respected that. Admired it, even. The silence was strange. It was a reminder that things weren't all right, and weren't going to turn out all right. It was silent because Flynn was packing to move out.

He made as much noise as he could when he came in, aware that he was being childish, but not really caring. If it filled in that silence, it was worth it. He came very near to slamming the door, threw the chain lock, kicked his boots off against the wall, shook out his coat and flung it over a chair, tossed his keys onto the table with a clatter. He snatched up a discarded plastic bag and shook it open, let it flutter in the air before he began tossing empty cans and beer bottles into it. He shoved in paper plates, rattled them around as if trying to force them to fit. He crumpled up papers and threw picks and pens and coins into a messy pile.

When the living room table was mostly clean, he tied the straining bag shut and carried it into the kitchen where he flung it to the floor next to the trashcan. A few dishes sat in the sink, and he turned on the faucet full blast, soaped up a sponge and set to scrubbing. Once everything was dripping onto a dishcloth beside the sink, he turned off the water.

Silence fell heavy around him, pressing in on his eardrums, until it was ripped away by the rubbery screech of packing tape being pulled from a roll. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. He paced restlessly around the house before finally, inevitably, he ended up outside Flynn's door.

Standing awkwardly in the spill of light that flooded the hallway, he didn't look at Flynn, didn't even look directly into the room cluttered with boxes broken down and waiting or already filled and sealed. He'd caught enough glimpses over the past few days.

"Do you have plans this weekend?" He sounded normal when he asked, but he didn't feel normal. He felt flat. He felt like it didn't really matter, or wouldn't unless Flynn brushed him off, told him to go mind his own business.

"I'm getting ready to move."

"Right. I just…." This was so stupid. "You'd said you wanted to go camping some time." Once Flynn left, that would be it for any chance of friendship. Both of them knew it.

He was quiet long enough that Yuri regretted even having brought it up. What sense did it make to drag this out any longer? Flynn was leaving. End of story.

"All right. Let's go camping, then."

Yuri kept his surprise to himself, just nodded a little. "We'll leave Saturday morning and come back Sunday night."

"All right."

There was a hesitant pause that neither of them could—or would—fill. Yuri hated the silence.

"Guess I'll leave you to it." He turned and walked away. Flynn didn't stop him, but then, Yuri hadn't expected him to.

Retreating to his room, he left the door cracked a little wider than usual. He pulled out his headphones and a favorite CD, got some music going and laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling until he dozed off.

* * *

The weather was absolutely perfect that weekend: sunny and clear and just a little too warm in the city, but that would make the cooler temperatures up in the mountains all the more enjoyable. Flynn drove, of course. There'd been a weirdly subdued sort of tension between them ever since he'd decided to move out, and Yuri was half tempted to sit in the back with Repede. However, if Flynn, with his terrible track record in dealing with repression, could pretend that every thing was fine, then so could Yuri. They put on a mix CD of metal and classical and, as Yuri watched the urban scenery change to rural while listening to orchestral scores, as Flynn jokingly headbanged along to some tech death, they smiled and laughed and forgot for a while that they weren't really friends, just fractious roommates, and soon wouldn't even be that.

He directed Flynn out of the city and its suburbs, through half remembered roads. It surprised him how similar the drive felt to when he used to ride up with Niren, the stereo blasting classic rock and early metal. He rolled down the window to let his hair blow back, and wondered if he would regret taking Flynn camping. Niren was in all his memories of the campsite they were going to, and Niren was gone. In a few days, Flynn wouldn't be a part of his life anymore, either. In the corner of his eye, he could see Anemone's case in the back seat. He'd brought her along knowing it would be a farewell trip. Squeezing his eyes shut against the wind, he drew a breath and roared along with the current track.

Neighborhoods became sparser, giving way to isolated houses with huge yards. There were few shops or restaurants along this stretch, though they passed a sketchy-looking gas station next to the best meat-and-three place Yuri had ever eaten at. They would have to stop on the way back. It was traditional.

Eventually, the houses were almost completely replaced by trees, and the roads sloped upwards more often than not. Thin, white clouds stretched themselves lazily across the horizon, but the sky behind them was still a bright, sunny blue. By then, Repede knew where they were headed and was trying his best to wriggle into the front seat and Yuri's lap. Chuckling, Flynn reached over to ruffle his fur before rolling down the rear windows for him.

Not long after that, they came to the winding roads that would lead to the campsite. The one they would be staying at was a short hike up a trail from where they would have to park, but it was cupped in a dip between two mountains, surrounded by trees and bordered by a river. It held some of the happiest memories of Yuri's life, gone bittersweet with loss and time.

When they arrived, the campsite was just as Yuri remembered it, although the last visitors had left a mess. Garbage and beer cans littered the sandy area around the fire pit along with a host of cigarette butts. Flynn suggested that they find someplace else, having seen cleaner sites on the way up, but Repede had already dashed off into the woods to explore, and Yuri simply pulled a trash bag out of the supplies they'd carried up and set to work putting the site in order. He picked up empty cigarette packs, plastic cups and paper plates, snack baggies and wadded up aluminum foil. A Styrofoam cooler had been left smashed and dusty in the shadow of the small cliff face that backed the site. Beside it, Yuri spotted a used condom.

Glancing quickly at Flynn to be sure he hadn't noticed, Yuri used a stick to fling it into the depths of the trash bag. He scoured the rest of the campsite extra thoroughly after that. Although they'd been getting along all right on the surface, there was no sense reminding Flynn unnecessarily of that particular bone of contention between them.

They'd managed to carry almost everything up, and after going back for the bag of snacks and their water, Flynn took it upon himself to begin arranging their gear while Yuri handled the trash. He left the tent, their backpacks and sleeping bags next to the cliff face, only moments after Yuri had moved on. The cooler and bags of food ended up with the cooking gear—a small cook stove, a tripod, a kettle, pot, and pan, and an aluminum meal set—near the fire pit. There wasn't really a whole lot he could do, and when he started to set up the tent, Yuri paused in his own task.

"Don't bother with that."

"What?" He looked from the sagging folds of cloth in his hands to Yuri. "Why not?"

"We don't need it. I only brought it in case of rain."

"What are we supposed to sleep in?"

"The sleeping bags." He tried to tell Flynn with tone and expression exactly how stupid that question had been.

Flynn frowned and turned away. "I'm pitching the tent."

Yuri almost choked on a laugh, remembering just too late to completely stifle the sound. What he could see of Flynn's face had gone bright red, and he barely caught a muttered: "Not what I meant." They ignored each other for a few minutes until the campsite was set to rights, and the fun part of camping could begin in earnest. Licking his lips, Yuri got to work piling up logs and kindling to get the fire started.

"Isn't it too early for that?"

"Never too early for s'mores."

He grinned from where he knelt by the fire pit, then struck a match and set the kindling alight. He fed in desiccated twigs and dried bits of wood, watching as the flames licked up the sides of the larger logs and caught. In no time at all, he had a small fire going. The bag of snacks yielded a box of graham crackers, a pack of chocolate bars, and the biggest bag of marshmallows Yuri had been able to find. He ate one plain before unwrapping the rest of his ingredients and skewering several more marshmallows on a twiggy branch he'd picked up for just that purpose. Flynn came over as he was setting the marshmallows alight, nabbing the graham crackers before taking a seat on one of the large rocks ranged around the fire pit.

Once he'd judged his marshmallows appropriately flambéed—charcoaled outsides around melty centers—he pulled them from the fire and blew each of them out. Three of them got sandwiched with chocolate between a couple graham crackers, and they split and oozed as he bit into his treat. He had to twist this way and that to keep blobs of melted marshmallow from dropping to the ground, and his hands were a sticky mess by the time he'd finished the s'more.

As he licked the gooey white remains from between his fingers, he made the mistake of glancing at Flynn. Flushed and slack-jawed, the expression on his face made Yuri realize suddenly what he must look like, and he dropped his hands away from his mouth in a flash.

Paper towels, he was sure he'd brought a roll of paper towels. Where the _fuck_ was it?

"Messier than I remembered," he said, tearing off a paper towel. "S'mores, I mean," he added quickly.

"Yeah." The response wasn't quite short enough to hide the strangeness in his voice. He pulled another graham cracker out of the pouch and nibbled it, avoiding Yuri's eyes.

"Don't eat all those plain. They're for s'mores."

Arching a brow, Flynn managed to wordlessly convey his disbelief that Yuri would even consider making more after that display. "I don't like s'mores," he said.

"What kind of person doesn't like s'mores? Gimmie those," he said, grabbing away the box. "I bet I can make you one you'll like."

He dug out the jar of peanut butter he'd packed. Flynn didn't like sweets, so maybe replacing the chocolate would do it for him. He spread the grahams with peanut butter and charred a marshmallow to go between. Pressing it together, he passed it to Flynn.

"Eat."

Flynn took an exaggeratedly careful bite, but with only one marshmallow, it wasn't going to ooze the way Yuri's had. "Not bad. It needs something, though." He perked up. "Did we bring the Tabasco?"

"Heathen."

Yuri turned away, unwilling to be part of snack sacrilege, as Flynn began digging through the food bag. Repede returned and Yuri gave him a graham cracker dipped in peanut butter, then set about charring some more marshmallows. He made sure the paper towels were close at hand.

They got to talking. Flynn had gone backyard camping with his father when he was very young, a few summer nights spent in a cheap tent pitched on their lawn. They'd made shadow puppets and Flynn's dad had pointed out the few constellations he'd known and made up the rest. Flynn couldn't remember most of them. He knew there had been a whale, and a song about it that his father had sung, but the details had been lost over time. He'd spent a week one summer at camp, but that had been cabins and restrooms—not real camping.

Yuri had only been camping with Niren, and usually at the same spot he'd now brought Flynn to. That first trip had been the first time he'd ever even left the city, though he'd since gone on road trips: usually with Crash—who didn't camp—but once with Judy and Karol to a music fest the next city over. They'd all been fun trips in various ways, but camping with Niren had always been a learning experience. He'd taught Yuri how to build a decent campfire, how to fish and lay snares, a bit about fighting and a bit about surviving. He'd taught him how to play the guitar, and he'd taught him that not all authority figures were power tripping assholes and that some people could be trusted. He'd shown Yuri that he wasn't a bad kid, and made him want to be a better person.

Of course, Yuri didn't tell Flynn all of that. The personal lessons he'd learned from Niren would remain personal, his secret, but he didn't so much mind sharing anecdotes of fishing and fighting and stories that Niren had told by firelight.

Before he knew it, the afternoon had faded mostly away. As much as he wanted to bring out Anemone and play a few songs, he knew that, if they wanted to take even a short hike that day, they had to get moving. Besides, if he was going to watch the sun set, he wanted to do it from the top of the cliff. The whole valley was visible from up there.

Briefly, he described the short hike and the view waiting at the end of it to Flynn. It wasn't to be missed, and he carefully banked the fire as Flynn put away the food and pulled out a couple fresh bottles of water in preparation to go. It wasn't cool enough for the flannel jacket he'd brought, though Flynn tied his coat around his waist. It was such an unusually careless way to treat his clothes that it brought a crooked smile to Yuri's face as they set off.

Repede trotted along with them on the trail until Yuri picked up a stick and tossed it off among the trees for him to fetch. They kept up the game as they walked, and Repede didn't seem to mind who he brought the stick back to. Yuri took to flinging it harder, further off into the woods, hoping that Repede would get distracted along the way or tire of the game. It bothered Yuri to watch him getting along with Flynn so well when everything was about to change.

They followed the trail without a care for the noise they made, the crunch of dry leaves and the snap of twigs, the thudding of their boots, and, most of all, their voices, out of place in the seemingly empty mountains. Conversation spiked and subsided sporadically as they walked. Yuri pointed out plants he recognized: mountain laurel and mulberry bushes, poison oak and ivy. He had never seen anything larger than a deer or more dangerous than a fox in the area, and he trusted that Repede would let them know if anything came near that they ought to be wary of. The woods smelled of damp earth and leaf litter, of pine and oak and the sharp, wintry smell of the river. They brought with them the warm, smoky smell of the campfire and, occasionally, whiffs of the mundane: deodorant, detergent, shampoo.

The path turned back on itself, winding up the slope of the cliff cradling their campsite. In places, it had been cut into steps, the erosion of which had been thwarted by the placement of logs well moored in the packed earth. It was an easy trail, something meant for fair weather campers come for a brief taste of nature without too many inconveniences. Yuri had been deeper into the woods a few times with Niren, off the beaten path and far from any sign of man's influence, but that had only been a few times, and he hadn't wanted this trip to be difficult. One last set of fond memories, or at least they would seem so, looking back.

It wasn't easy between him and Flynn, or simple, but when he remembered this trip, he would remember the way the light shone through the trees, golden as Anemone's polished sheen. He would remember making s'mores that Flynn would actually eat, and seeing him and Repede grinning over a game of fetch. It would be a sunset memory, like all the ones with Niren—warm, but tinged with a sense of things ending, of time slipping away. The difference was that, with Niren, Yuri hadn't known how quickly it was slipping away. That knowledge had only attached itself to the memories after it was too late to secure all the little details against time's eroding current.

With Flynn, he wasn't sure he wanted to remember too clearly. It would be like looking straight into the sun. It would be painful. Best to keep it soft and rosy-toned so there would be no hard feelings at the end.

The trees thinned out as they neared the top of the small cliff and, eventually, the trail led to a clearing, bare rock replacing the dirt high over the valley they'd driven through. The view was every bit as spectacular as Yuri remembered. Sunlight poured thick and golden as honey into the deep green depression cupped in a broken bowl of gray mountains. The valley was soft-edged by the forest spread across it and, every now and again, glimpses of the same river that flowed past their campsite could be seen winking like shards of glass amid the trees. Below them, they could see a crescent of their campsite and, a little further down, a corner of the parking lot for hikers and day-trippers where Flynn had left his car.

Already, the sky behind them was growing dim and beginning to show off its stars. Yuri fixed his eyes on the brightly dyed horizon. He watched the shadows as they fed off the dying light of the sun, growing deeper and sharper, changing shape, filling the valley as smoothly as the light had poured in. He watched the sun's rays play across the mountainsides, thinking that if gods made shadow puppets, that's how they'd do it.

Glancing over, he noticed that Flynn's fingers were moving at his side, the motions a simplified version of guiding a bow over strings. There was music in his head. Yuri wondered what he'd conjured up to go with the sunset. He didn't ask.

They watched over the valley in silence, studying the light and the textures, picking out little details: the stark bluish-white of a house on the edge of a shadowed clearing, horses at pasture, the smoke rising up from a campfire, birds in flight below them. Flynn had his music to accompany the view, and Yuri had his thoughts. Repede was the only one of them bored by it all. He had flopped down with a huff, tail flopping listlessly as he waited for his humans to do something.

His _human_. Soon, there would only be the one again.

Eventually, the sun dissolved away. The stars had come out to keep the moon company, and the Milky Way cut across the sky like the smoke of some great, celestial campfire. Though the heaves shone, it was still dark among the trees. Yuri had brought a flashlight, which he passed off to Flynn, preferring to make his way without it as best he could. Something about the quality of the light made the woods look artificial where the beam fell upon them. The flashlights he and Niren had used had had a softer, yellowier glow. Or maybe his memories had gone dingy with age, browning around the edges like the pages of old paperbacks. After all, he hadn't remembered quite how strikingly green the valley was, or the numerous shades of blue and white marbling through the mountains.

They didn't play fetch on the way back. Though Repede seemed to resent the decision at first, he soon came to keep pace with Yuri, walking so close that he was practically underfoot. Yuri kept one hand on his fur, scratching his head or petting his ears. He felt like he needed the company, just then. Walking back to camp, he felt like that would be the last time he would ever watch the sun set from that cliff.

It was a stupid thing to be concerned about. Karol and Judy would probably love to go camping, and he was willing to bet Estelle would enjoy it, too. Even if nobody else wanted to join him, he could always come back on his own. He'd either have to borrow a car or have Crash watch Repede while he was gone, but there wasn't anything to keep him from coming back. Not really.

Reason was useless by then, however. The melancholy thought had sunk his spirits, though he tried to perk up once they cleared the trees and were back in their campsite. Flynn probably wouldn't have picked up on it, anyway, having started a game of tug of war with Repede over a stick. Yuri built up the fire once again and set up the tripod, which would suspend the pot of rice over the flames. Just because they were camping didn't mean they would be living off of s'mores and peanut butter. Atop the bag of ice in the cooler was a package of stew beef he'd frozen back home. He pulled it out, not quite thawed all the way through, and set it near the fire. The rest of the ingredients for dinner were buried in the snack bag—canned potatoes and carrots and the curry spices—and Yuri licked his lips as he pulled them out, his earlier gloom already being pushed aside by the familiarity of cooking and the promise of a good meal. Humans really were simple creatures.

He got the cook stove ready and poured a little bit of oil into the pan he'd brought. When it was hot, he tipped in the beef, stirring it, turning it, letting it brown a bit before adding the carrots and potatoes and spices. The smell of curry filled the air, and Yuri wasn't the only one whose stomach was growling. Though he tried to shoo them away, Flynn and Repede kept crowding back in. Repede's head was practically on Yuri's lap, and Flynn was sitting a bit too close, as well. He didn't seem to notice, and Yuri didn't say anything. It would have been awkward. Besides, he didn't really mind.

Once the food was ready, boundaries were automatically reinstated, and they spread out, each with their own plate of rice and curry. Yuri built up the fire a bit more, watching it throw off sparks as logs splintered and bits of dry debris caught flame. It beat hot and dry against his face. He'd probably let it get much bigger than they needed, but it would die down a bit before he turned in.

Setting aside his plate once he was done, he leaned back and looked up at the sky. He was full and a little sleepy and a bit too warm. Luckily, he knew just how to wake himself up, and he shot a grin across at Flynn.

"Want to go for a swim?"

"What?"

"I'm gonna go for a swim in the river. You want to come?"

The look Flynn fixed him with was skeptical and full of what Yuri could only interpret as urban mistrust for nature's ability to keep itself clean.

"Come on. It's fine. There are only a few leeches, and the water spiders aren't _that_ big."

"I think I'll pass," he said, smiling a little to say he knew Yuri was kidding. "I brought a book with me, just in case."

Yuri shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He pulled a towel out of his backpack and whistled for Repede. They stepped out of the campfire's light and into the woods, leaving Flynn behind.

The river was a much shorter walk away than their earlier hike to the top of the cliff, and they arrived after only a couple minutes among the trees. At the point where it ran past their campsite, the river grew sluggish and wide, deep enough to swim in, though not so deep that Yuri wouldn't be able to wade across the rocky bottom. The trees hugged the bank to either side, their leaves made silvery by the light of the moon hanging low and bright in the sky. The stars were as he remembered, numerous enough to make the whole night sky shimmer.

Yuri took a deep breath and sighed, glad he'd come back, glad he'd been shown this place years ago. He missed Niren, but it wasn't as if he couldn't remember him, talk to him. Sometimes, he could even guess what advice he'd have been given had the old soldier still been around. He was sure at least, in that peaceful moment, in that familiar place, that Niren would be proud of him.

He shook off thoughts of the past. There was a beautiful, serene, moonlit river in front of him, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to go for a swim and upset the tranquility of the place a bit. He grinned down at Repede.

"Ready to go skinny dipping?"

Dropping his towel, Yuri shed his clothes and dashed across the narrow riverbank into the water, yelping at the temperature and shattering the quiet of the night. He was in the water up to his thighs before he stopped, laughing and shivering, inwardly trying to shrink away from his skin as if it was some separate boundary to the chill river.

"Shit, that's cold!"

His fingers hovered over the dark and shining surface, probing tentatively and scattering droplets. He walked further out, letting the water rise up past his waist and further, over his stomach. Taking a deep breath, Yuri jumped and tucked up his legs underneath himself. He dropped beneath the water's surface. The soft, burbling rumble of the current filled his ears, and he felt it tugging gently at him. His legs had mostly adjusted, but the cold was a shock over his chest and face, and he surfaced quickly, gasping and energized. When he could draw breath steadily again, he let out a 'whoop!' into the night.

He felt wide-awake and jittery, like he'd had too many iced coffees. Water was flowing freely from his hair, and the slightest breeze made him shiver.

Repede was standing in the shallows, tail waving gently as he stared back into the trees. He wasn't on guard, and Yuri took a few steps closer, confident that if his attention had been caught by something dangerous, Repede would let him know.

"You hear a deer or something, pal?" He stopped at a point where the water flowed low around his hips. Bits of him wouldn't enjoy being exposed with the breeze picking up like it was. "What's the matter? You wish Flynn had come with us? You miss him?"

The instant he asked the question, he regretted it. There would be plenty of time to miss Flynn after tomorrow.

"Come play with me," he called, splashing. Another few seconds and Repede turned away from the woods and came to join him.

They spent the better part of an hour splashing and swimming and tackling each other into the water. By the time he came ashore, Yuri was chilled and shivering so badly that he could barely towel off and dress. Repede knew enough to move a few feet away to shake off the water, and was none the worse for wear after having been soaked. He almost seemed to be grinning as they made their way back through the trees to where Flynn waited, focused intently on a kettle hung from the tripod over the fire.

The aroma of coffee was filling the clearing, riding on wood smoke and pine, and Yuri made a beeline for the fireside, hands held out in front of him. He soaked up the warmth greedily as Flynn fixed them mugs of hot coffee. Yuri accepted his gratefully, curling around it, savoring the warmth in his hands almost as much as the sweet flavor. Flynn hadn't skimped on the sugar. When he smiled his thanks, however, Flynn jumped a little and turned away.

He avoided Yuri's stare, fiddling with his mug for a moment before asking quietly: "How was your swim?"

Was he regretting having agreed to come camping? Feeling left out? Should Yuri have tried harder to get him to come down to the river?

"Good," Yuri said. "You should have joined us."

"I was too busy reenacting the blunder of Actaeon," Flynn muttered into his coffee.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

They drank quietly after that. Yuri had settled with his back to the fire to hasten the drying of his hair, and he felt its heat beating against his back through towel and tee. He set his mug aside when he'd finished and braced himself on his arms, leaning back to look up at the stars. Repede lay next to him, belly to the flames. Flynn was just barely in the corner of his vision and, after several minutes, the sensation of eyes on him had become nearly as intense as the warmth of the flames. The silence was getting to him again.

"Nice out here, isn't it?"

"…Yes. The sky is much brighter than I'd expected."

"There are…" He did a quick count. "…ten constellations in that patch of sky right now."

"You're messing with me."

He grinned. "Scout's honor. I showed you a few, though they might be a bit harder to pick out, now."

Having successfully transferred Flynn's attention, Yuri pointed out stars and filled in the heavens with dot-to-dot frameworks. He built up shapes, figures, stories in the sky. As he went from constellation to constellation, he could almost imagine that Niren was there with them, lying just out of sight and listening to Yuri pass on some of his knowledge. Before that moment, he hadn't realized quite how badly he'd needed to return to that place. He had something important to do.

After a while, all the oldest hidden pictures had been pointed out and their stories briefly told, and the three of them remained, quiet and still and far removed from the passing world. Although time shouldn't have mattered so much there under the stars, Yuri could feel it pressing in on him, slipping past, as gentle and inexorable a current as the river's had been. He knew he had to get up, knew he had to do what he'd really come there for, but he was reluctant to leave the peace of the moment, reluctant to let go. When Flynn yawned he knew he couldn't put it off any longer. It wouldn't have been right with only him and Repede. He needed a witness. An audience.

Abruptly, he stood, and Flynn turned to watch him as he walked away from the concentrated glow of the campfire.

"Yuri?"

He returned without answer, Anemone held close, and Repede came to sit next to him as he took a seat on one of the rocks ranged around the fire pit. Flynn held his peace as Yuri tuned up, maybe sensing the mood, or maybe just displaying his usual respect for music. Either way, Yuri was grateful for it. He couldn't explain just yet, but he needed Flynn to listen. With a deep breath, he settled himself and began playing a song he'd written years ago and never performed.

Beginning was complicated, not because of the notes involved, but because of what they had meant to him when he'd written them and what they had come to mean to him. He had played the song many, many times over the years, but always when he was alone, always when there was no one except Repede who might overhear. His practices with it had grown fewer and farther between over time, but his fingers still knew the patterns and pauses and if the notes came out a little too hesitant or in quick, anxious rushes, it was because of what he now traded to play it there, in that place, with the best of his memories crowded 'round like a fog of specters.

It was doubtful the particular song would mean much to anyone else. Without context, it was little more than a piece of music styled after classic rock when it had been on the cusp of forming what would become heavy metal. For Yuri, it was a piece of his life that he'd never quite left behind. He recognized the old bitterness and anger in his arrangement of the notes, and he tried to smooth it over as he played, no longer stuck with those unwarranted feelings of betrayal. The bridge sounded sadder than he remembered, and he left it as he'd originally intended. This was a requiem, after all.

He bobbed with the music, eyes heavy-lidded, though he wasn't really looking down at Anemone, or anything else in the clearing, for that matter. He had the song in his head, the progression, the return to the chorus. It was a simple piece, but that was where his focus lay. Anemone was a bright golden patch in the darkness, his fingers a blur of movement over her strings. The song was the only thing that was sharply, clearly real.

Yuri played for what he'd learned and what he'd lost. He played for who he had been and who he'd wanted to become. He played for Niren, as likely to be present in spirit there, that night, as anywhere else. His fingers danced over the strings, coming soon to the chorus one last time, slow at first, but building up to finish strong. One last 'thank you' to the old soldier, one last shout out to the first person who'd ever given a damn.

Anemone was flawless. Niren would have loved to be able to hear Yuri perform with her. He would have been proud.

When he finished, he allowed a minute for the sounds of the natural world to flow back in—the wind in the leaves, the crickets, the faint rush of the river—before he stood up and went to latch Anemone back into her case. He returned to the fireside with his sleeping bag and unrolled it, then stretched himself out on top of it and stared up into the sky.

Flynn hadn't said a word. He must have realized that something was up, that Yuri hadn't been just playing on a whim. His silence was expectant, and Yuri owed him an explanation.

"I wrote that after Niren died," he said to the stars. "Never got around to playing it before now. Didn't feel right, performing it to a mound of dirt and some fake flowers."

He relaxed into the thin cushion of the sleeping bag. It had taken him a long time to say goodbye.

"You've had hints about me—from the cops at the park at least, and I bet the ones at the station had a few things to say, too. You know about Niren. You must be curious." He paused. His eyes were still fixed heavenward, but he could feel Flynn's gaze on him. "I'll tell you if you want to know."

It was a little like picking at a scab. He'd covered over that time in his life with something approaching socially acceptable, but now he was offering to peel back that layer and show Flynn what was underneath. He wanted Flynn to ask, actually, wanted to find out if he would be driven away by what he would hear.

"It's your own story. Tell it in your own time. I don't mind waiting."

"You sure? There might not be another chance later on." He'd managed to sound much more unconcerned than he actually felt, and he congratulated himself for that.

"You aren't being fair. You wouldn't ask me to stay, but now you want me to ask you about your past?"

"How about a trade, then?" He kept his sight trained on the moon, studying its pits and craters and streaks rather than the accusation he was sure would be shining from Flynn's eyes. "One important question for another."

"What's your question?"

He drew a breath, licked his lips, avoided Flynn's eyes. "What would it take to make you want to stay?"

Abruptly, Flynn got to his feet. Yuri listened to the soft crunch of dirt beneath his soles as he took several hurried steps away, listened to him hesitate and pace and pause and, finally, sigh.

"You're a real bastard, you know that?"

He did know. He didn't bother answering.

"I'm packed to move. I've already put down a deposit on the apartment. I have a roommate request posted on the student message board on campus."

"If it's too late, you can just say so."

"What would make me stay?" He appeared suddenly, looming between Yuri and the fire, blocking out the low-hanging moon and haloed by stars. "If you wanted me the same way I want you. _That's_ what it would take. And I don't mean as a roommate, or a friend, or even as whatever you have with Crash. I want…. I want _you_." The agitation in him burned out and he sank to his knees. Much as he wanted to, and despite not being able to see Flynn's face clearly, Yuri couldn't look away. "I want to play music with you and fight with you and I want to be able to _touch_ you."

Slowly, carefully, Flynn reached out and brushed a damp lock of hair out of Yuri's face. Those abnormally gentle fingers slipped past his temple and tickled over the curve of his ear. Yuri shivered.

"I want to be _special_ to you. I want us to support each other. I want something _real_."

The faint pressure of his fingers remained for a moment longer just below Yuri's ear. He wasn't sure if he wanted to turn his face into that touch or away from it.

"That's a tall order."

Though Flynn was backlit and his features obscured by shadow, Yuri could still see the dejection in the slump of his shoulders and feel it in how quickly he pulled his hand away. He watched as Flynn stood up and turned toward the tent.

"You knew it would be when you asked the question."

He lay still, listening to the sound of Flynn walking away from him, the rustle of the tent flap and the sharp, quick noise of the zipper being drawn. Neither of them believed that he could be what Flynn wanted. Tomorrow, they would go back to Zaphias. Monday, Flynn would move out. He'd get over it. He would find someone else.

Yuri tucked his hands behind his head and stared up at the stars. He felt like the _idea_ of a song the way they came to him sometimes; vague and unformed, a tentative mood, a feeling he wanted to attempt to define. Niren was long gone but he'd finally been able to say goodbye. Flynn was leaving and Yuri wasn't as ready for that as he'd thought. So much had changed over the last few months. For the past several years, he'd worked to become—in his own way—someone that Niren would be proud of. He'd reached that goal, but what came next? A strange, hollow feeling crept over him as he watched the stars and wondered what it was that _he_ wanted.


End file.
